


XIII. Back to the Classics

by ShadowCas



Series: Where Do We Go From Here? (SPN Hiatus Creations 2019) [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Betaed, Classic Supernatural, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Family Bonding, Gen, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Long coda, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 15, SPN Hiatus Creations 2019, Spells & Enchantments, Week 13, coda series, giving up grace, mixtape mentions, recollections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 12:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowCas/pseuds/ShadowCas
Summary: Cas gives up his grace and becomes human. He hopes that Dean doesn't mind all the ways in which he's changed.





	XIII. Back to the Classics

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sweetness47 for beta-ing!

The first time Cas lost his grace, he wasn’t awake to feel it.

The last thing he could remember was banishing a roomful of angels through a sigil carved into his own flesh. The events that came after were disorienting. He had woken up in a yellow room so bright that it hurt his eyes, a sensation he had never experienced before. There had been a scratchy, plugged feeling in his throat and a pounding in his head that he couldn’t ignore. He would learn, not long after, that he was experiencing thirst and a headache. As he looked down at his arm, he noticed a long clear tube sticking out from the crook of his elbow. The spot throbbed as he bent his arm, so he decided not to do that anymore. After all, there were already enough unpleasant sensations, such as an itchy bug bite that only got worse as he scratched it, and the uncomfortably stiff hospital sheets. He certainly hadn’t experienced any of the positive elements to being human, and he was quite relieved when his powers returned to him.

The second time Cas lost his grace, it was painful. It was stolen from him with a quick slice across the throat, ripping a wound deep enough for the essence of his power to flow freely out of him. There was nothing he could do, only struggle fruitlessly against his restraints, as Metatron siphoned it out of him. After that, he was left with agonizing pain, his grace no longer protecting him from the deep cut in his neck. Metatron healed him soon after, but the pain lingered on until he blacked out.

When he awoke, it was not on a bed in a crisp, sterile room. He came to, dizzy and sore, on a pile of scratchy leaves. And perhaps more painful than the actual theft of his grace was watching his siblings fall from heaven. And fall, and fall, and fall.

This guilt burdened him through this slightly longer experience of humanity. It creeped up on him in the moments that he did enjoy the gifts of being human  — things like the satisfying taste of sandwiches, the feeling of sunlight on his skin, and the way his emotions were so much sharper, _clearer_ than when he had been an angel.

When he had stolen back a bit of grace, it had been a relief because he could finally _do_ something about the mess he’d made. But there had been a small part of him that mourned his own humanity, which he assumed he’d never experience again.

The third and final time Cas loses his grace is nothing like any other time. There is no knife carved into his flesh or dragged across his throat. There is no pain at all. There is only a glowing, purple warmth billowing up from a silver bowl and seeping in through his skin, replacing the cool grace that flows out his mouth and into a little vial that Rowena holds in front of him. And for the first time, he’s conscious, fully conscious, as the fog of being an angel rolls out of him, leaving behind a mind and body that is aware, vulnerable, and _alive_.

It’s never felt better.

Dean’s concerned face hovers in front of him, causing him to draw in a surprised breath. Ah, _breathing_. He’d forgotten how much better it feels to fill his lungs with air when there’s actually a purpose for it.

“Cas? You okay?” Dean asks.

“More than okay,” Cas smiles back. He turns to Rowena. “Did it work?”

She holds up the vial, showing off a shimmering, ethereal substance. “Aye, this’ll do just fine.” She puts it down with a bit more seriousness and strides over. “You’re sure you’re feeling up to par?” She feels his forehead with the back of her hand. “I have spells to ease the transition if you’re feeling wiped out.”

Cas shakes his head fondly. “No, thank you. I feel wonderful.” It’s the truth; though he is far from energized, he feels comfortable and happy, as if he’s just awoken from a restful nap.

Dean still hovers anxiously as Cas rises to his feet, but he’s feeling more than steady on his own. “Good?” Dean checks, ever the worrier.

“Good,” Cas responds, ready to start his new life as a human being.

Although Amara, Billie, and Kaia are scheduled to return the next day, there’s a certain calm in the Bunker that matches the peaceful feeling Cas felt as his grace slipped away. The past week has been ceaseless bustling, but now, all the preparations have been made. There’s nothing left to do other than rest well and patiently wait. Cas, Dean, Sam, and Rowena pass this time by playing a lazy game of Crazy Eights while sipping beers, which finally make Cas’s head a bit fuzzy again.

Even though it’s a tranquil evening, there’s still one little thing nagging at Cas’s mind that he has to put at ease. When Sam and Rowena abandon the group game to play an intense round of Spit at the other end of the table (or Speed, according to Rowena — the debate over the actual name of the game had been almost as contentious as the game itself is), Cas takes the opportunity to voice his concerns.

“Dean,” he begins hesitantly.

“Yeah, Cas?”

Cas’s brow furrows as he searches for the exact right words to say. “I remember once, a long time ago, you told me to ‘never change.’ And now, I’ve changed a lot.” He rubs his thumb across the sweat of his beer bottle. “Do you wish that I hadn’t?”

“No,” Dean says gruffly, pushing his own beer away. “Absolutely not.”

Cas searches Dean’s face for answers that his few words are not providing.

Dean grimaces. “I think I know what you’re talking about. It was a coupl’a days after you and I faced down Raphael together, right? You remember when I told you Zachariah sent me to the future? A version of it, anyways.”

Cas nods. What Dean describes lines up perfectly with his memory.

Dean sighs. “A lot of shit went down in that world, Cas. A lotta context that led up to that that you didn’t see, and I never told you.”

“Like what?” Cas asks, curiosity piqued. He’d always thought that Dean’s descriptions of that timeline’s version of himself had been lacking, but he’d never wanted to press on the issue, sensing that the whole experience had been a traumatic one.

“Well, for one, you were human.”

Cas’s heart pounds a bit more quickly. Once again, he hopes that his humanity now will not be an issue for Dean.

“The way it happened, man… it’s not like it happened here. From what I understood from that world’s Dean, it just kind of faded out once the Apocalypse began. And then you got hurt on a hunt and took pain meds and got addicted.

“And I guess that was the start of a long-ass spiral. You took drugs, you drank, you threw orgies.”

Cas just about chokes on air. “I what?”

“I dunno, man. The thing is, that version of you, whatever happened, was broken. I got back to our time and instantly regretted everytime I’d told you you had a stick up your ass, or whatever. After that experience, I couldn’t have been happier to see this dorky, tight-laced guy who still wore his vessel’s suit and a backwards tie.”

“You never said anything,” Cas says, awed by Dean’s passionate spiel.

“Nah,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know how to approach it. Didn’t want to give you any ideas, either. I was insanely paranoid about the whole thing. Point is, though, when I said ‘don’t change,’ _that_ was the change I envisioned. I’d never had been able to predict the person you are today.”

“I understand.”

“And if you wanna keep changing, that’s okay, too.” Dean’s hands fly out to steady their bottles as Rowena slams her hand violently down onto the table, obliterating Sam’s chances of winning. “I get it now that neither you and I are gonna be the same people forever,” he continues. “That’s okay with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cas assures him. “I feel the same.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks with a raised brow. “I’m sure I’ve changed, too. Doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not,” Cas says, taking another sip of beer. “I admired you back then, and I still do now. There’s one very big reason I prefer how you are today.”

“What?”

“You seem to be a happier man.”

Dean flushes a bit. “Yeah,” he agrees in a strained voice, struggling to meet Cas’s eyes. “Guess so.”

Cas can’t help a fond smile. “You deserve happiness, Dean. I’m glad that much has changed.”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs, still looking away. Cas can detect the slightest smile on his lips anyway.

It turns into a confused frown as he looks around the room. “Is that one of my Zepp tapes playing?” Now that Dean has pointed it out, Cas can detect the agile riffs of Travelling Riverside Blues, only recognizable to him due to its inclusion on the tape that Dean had made for him.

“Sure is,” Sam says with a smirk, gesturing towards an old cassette player in the room that they hardly use. “Figured if we were talking about the classics, we might as well have an appropriate soundtrack.”

At this point, Sam has accepted defeat in Spit, and he and Rowena have been looking on curiously, though not impolitely, as they regather the cards. Sam remarks, “It is a bit crazy how much has changed in the — what, ten years? — since we met you, Cas.”

“Ten?” Rowena asks. “Has it really been so long since you met?”

“Just about,” Dean says.

“What about you?” Cas asks, wondering what Rowena’s life was like before she stepped into theirs. “What were you like back then?”

“Oh, you know. Performing ordinary little acts of evil where I could. Trying to find a coven, though perhaps I had temporarily given up.” Her brow furrows. “A lot of us were laying low at the time. Whether a witch was in support of Lucifer or not, the wrath of angels was nothing to scoff at.” Her eyes narrow. “I’ve heard my fair share of stories, some from the horse’s mouth and some merely myth. You lot were at the center of that mess, no?”

Sam nods in confirmation, then shakes his head in amusement at the thought. “We’re at the center of most messes, usually.”

“Hmm. I’m curious as to what you were all like back then.”

“I have a picture somewhere,” Sam says, digging out his wallet. He opens it and shows her a photo that makes her squeal in delight.

“Oh, you’re such wee little things! Except Castiel, of course. Just like I, you haven’t aged a day.”

“We weren’t kids,” Dean grumbled.

“Dear, I’m over three hundred years old. The two young men in those photos are practically infants in my eyes.”

“Alright,” Sam says, rolling his eyes good naturedly and tucking his wallet back way.

“I can tell you that we were all very different,” Cas says, trying to supply some helpful information for Rowena. “Dean was very angry.”

“Hey!” Dean exclaims, though it’s only a half-protest.

“They were both under a lot of stress. It was understandable.” Cas pauses, thinking for a moment. “We all seemed to fight a lot, but the two of them, more than anything.”

“And he was totally clueless,” Dean bites back, pointing at Cas. “Dude was so out of the loop on basic human norms. He’d just peace out in the middle of a conversation.” Dean turns his attention to Sam. “And this guy!” A second later, he seems to regret where he’s going, however, and his face falls. “Well.”

“What?” Rowena asks, looking to Sam.

Sam winces and asks, “I’ve told you a little about the whole demon blood thing yeah?” Rowena nods. “That’s about when it got really bad.”

“Och, no, darling.” She grips his arm. “There’s no sense in being ashamed about something that was done _to_ ye. From what I understand, the three of you were faced with an impossible problem with no answers. You did the best you could.”

“Yeah,” Sam shrugs. “Still wasn’t the best years of my life.”

“But it all worked out, Sam,” Cas says, trying to be kind. “I know it was hard, but you recovered from it. That shows a lot of strength.”

Sam smiles, seemingly appreciating Cas’s words. A sudden idea strikes him, and he reaches for his beer bottle once more.

“I propose a toast,” Cas says, a bit nervously, hoping he’s doing this right. He’s never given a toast before, though he’s observed several. His companions, however, seem to be pleased, if not surprised. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, considering how he wants to word what he wants to convey. “A toast,” he begins, “to the people we once were. They were deeply flawed, but they fought through difficult struggles and came out on top.

“It’s time for us to forgive their shortcomings and acknowledge their bravery and successes.” Cas takes his time to give a meaningful look to Sam; although Dean occasionally beats himself up, Cas knows that Sam is more sensitive about those particular years than his brother. “Somehow, they made it through and became, well, us. I think that’s something to be proud of.” He steals a glance at Dean, hoping he’s done this right. “Anything else?”

Dean grins, shaking his head. “Couldn't have said it better, Cas. To the classics,” he says, earning a laugh from Sam.

They all clink their bottles together.

“To the classics!”


End file.
